


All The Rest

by FrozenSnares



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Rickeen, SO, Well - Freeform, featuring two non-rickeen-centric fics, it's all my tumblr stuff, it's all rickeen, that i forgot I wrote
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-09
Updated: 2018-07-12
Packaged: 2018-08-14 02:47:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 10,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7995784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrozenSnares/pseuds/FrozenSnares
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A compilation of all my works that haven't yet found their way onto AO3.</p><p>Note: The first two "chapters" are devoid of Rickeen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Brotherhood

“Summer’s near the village,” Bran objected.

“Shaggy, too,” Rickon added.

“Hush, Your Grace,” Jojen said gently. He exchanged aworried look with Meera. “We cannot draw attention to ourselves or we will notsurvive the night.”

“The direwolves will be fine,” Meera promised, placing ahand lightly on Rickon’s leg. “It’s only one man on a tired horse.”

Water began to fall in fat drops from the roof. They moved to the level beneath them, taking as much shelter as they could from the pouring rain. Shortly after, the rain began to fall in earnest, pelting the sides of the tower and pounding against the surface of the lake. The huddled together in the room as Meera crawled out to check on the man. She crawled back and reported that he was alone and preparing a fire.

“We should have a fire,” Rickon said dejectedly. He curled up against Osha’s side, sharing her warmth. Osha wrapped an arm around Rickon and rubbed some heat into his arms.

“Making a fire would be the same as signaling to everyone that someone is here,” Jojen said. Seeing his sister’s protest, he added, “There’s a man in the village, and one man is enough to betray Bran. No fire.”

Meera gave her brother a long, hard look before she set to splitting the duck she caught earlier between them. Even in the gloom of the room, it seemed to get darker as time wore on. Rickon looked close to sleep on Osha’s lap, but Bran was alert, watching for any chance of harm. A flash of lightning shot across the sky, illuminating the room for an instant. Hodor jumped at the light, making a startled noise. Several seconds later, a crack of thunder sounded. Hodor shouted, “Hodor!”

Lightning flashed again. Meera and Bran seemed to both be counting the distance. At the thunder, Hodor shouted again; his volume growing as the storm closed in on them. “Hodor!” he yelled again. “HODOR! _HODOR!_ ”

Jojen’s eyes grew wide with worry. “Quiet, Hodor,” he said with an edge to his voice. “Bran, tell Hodor to keep quiet.”

“Hush, Hodor,” Bran tried. “No more hodoring. You need to be quiet now.”

Hodor almost completely settled at Bran’s words. “Hodor?” he said meekly, slumping down to the floor.

“There’s a good lad,” Osha said, giving him a warm smile. “No need for that noise.”

Jojen settled for a moment before a look of fear crossed his face. Meera caught the look immediately. Jojen took a quick breath in.

“What is it?” Meera asked.

“Men,” Jojen explained. “In the village.”

“The man from before?” Rickon asked, sitting up and shuffling off Osha’s lap.

“Others,” Jojen went on. “Armed. Spears, at the least. Probably more.”

“Mounted?” Meera asked.

“No.”

Hodor seemed to sense the mood of the room shift. “Hodor?” he said. “Hodor.”

Bran glanced at Rickon, as if trying to gauge how scared he was. Rickon, however, seemed quite calm as he looked around the darkness. “Will they come?” Bran asked, looking to Meera and Joejn. “For shelter?”

Jojen shook his head solemnly. “Not in this storm.”

Lightning flew through the sky again, followed by its accompanying burst of thunder. Immediately, Hodor jumped up and began thrashing about and screaming again. “HODOR! HODOR!! _HODOR!!_ ”

“NO!” Bran shouted back. Meera sprang to her feet, trying to soothe Hodor into his previous calm, and Osha soon joined her. Even together, they stood no chance against the man.

“Be quiet!” Bran said desparately.

Hodor seemed to be struck by some unknown force. He staggered back, shaking his head slightly. Across the room, Bran sucked in a breath. Meera’s eyes were wide as she looked to Bran.

“What did you do?” she asked in a worried voice.

“N-nothing,” Bran said. He glanced over at his younger brother. Rickon was looking at him knowingly, and Bran shook his head ever so slightly to the side.

“They might’ve heard him,” Osha said, standing up. “You lot stay quiet now.”

Osha left the room silently, crouching down low on her way. Bran beckoned Rickon closer, and Meera sat down next to her brother. Rushed footfalls came just before Osha returned. Jojen visibly paled.

“They sent men to investigate,” Osha confirmed. “Now, you best stay quiet. I don’ care about the storm.”

Pulling out a dagger, Osha levelled the blade at Hodor to keep him silent. Bran started to raise a protest, but Osha silenced him with a look. They sat together in as much quiet as they could muster while they listened to the storm pound away at the tower and their breathing as it grew louder. After a few minutes, it became possible that the men sent to investigate had been swept off the causeway. The tension in the room lessened until a distinct shuffling came from outside. Hodor looked panicked, but Osha surged forward and pressed a hand to his mouth. She hushed him gently as she raised a finger to her lips. Bran gave Hodor a small smile of reassurance.

Despite their best efforts to remain hidden, three men crashed into the room. Immediately, Hodor leapt up and continued his yelling while Osha and Meera jumped on the offensive, pulling out their weapons. The men clearly had the advantage, not caring for the well-being of the present company. After a small confrontation, they pulled everyone out one by one and began sending them back down the causeway.

“The cripple’s useless anyway,” one the men said. “Best to end him now.”

“He goes across,” Osha protested, grabbing one of the men by the collar. “We’ll take him.”

The man spat at Osha. “’S on your watch, turncloak.”

“I’m a free woman,” Osha retorted. “You best remember that.” She walked over to help strap Bran to Hodor’s back while Bran quietly murmured his thanks. Then, she picked up Rickon and signaled to the Reeds to lead the way across.

With her frog spear, Meera took the lead. They progressed much slower on the way back, fighting both the storm and being nearly blind from darkness. Still, the managed to hit the shore just before dawn hit. Exhausted, Meera helped Jojen through the last few steps. Without pause, the three wildlings led them over to their camp. Bran hastily scanned the tree line, looking for any sign of Summer and Shaggydog. The direwolves were definitely nearby – he could sense them.

They were pulled into the center of the camp along with the man they spotted the night before. Immediately, they were surrounded by wildings.

“Aye, and look what we have here,” one of them said. “We’ll deal with them right after this. What’ll it be, Snow?”

At the name, Bran looked up sharply, meeting the eyes of his half-brother Jon Snow. Jon made to step toward his brothers, but stopped himself. Jon slowly turned back to the wildlings.

“Or perhaps they sweeten the deal?” the wildling asked, grabbing Bran by the collar and cutting him free from Hodor’s back. Helpless, Bran’s legs dragged through the mud as a blade was pressed to his throat.

“Leave him alone!” Rickon shouted, stepping forward.

The wildlings around them laughed, regarding the youngest Stark for the briefest of moments before turning back to Jon.

“The man or the cripple?” a red-headed woman asked.

Osha was holding a struggling Rickon back. With his breaths coming in short bursts, Bran looked to Jon with wide eyes. Jon seemed to sense Bran’s concern and tightened his grip on his sword. He took a step forward as he drew it slowly. He looked steadily to Bran before turning to face the man. With one smooth motion, he sliced his blade through the neck of the man.

There was a moment of silence in the wildling camp. The man who looked to be in charged turned to Jon. “They can’t go living to tell ‘bout us either.”

Jon stared at the man. “No,” he said defiantly.

“You will, Snow,” the wildling roared back. He pulled out his own blade.

“Just do it,” the red-headed woman hissed at Jon.

Sparing the woman a quick glance, Jon squared himself to the wildling. “No.”

“I command here, boy,” the wildling snarled. “You will obey.”

“You command Thenns,” Jon said evenly. “Not free folk.”

The wildling’s mouth twisted into a smirk. “Aye, but I see no free folk. _Just a crow and his crow wife._ ”

The red-headed woman snapped at that. She lunged at the wildling and Meera jumped forward, using her spear to redirect the blow from Bran. The wildling dropped Bran into the mud, and Osha ran forward to help Meera pull him to safety. Jon urged them to go, helping them into the nearby wood while the wildlings fought with each other. They reached a clearing a few miles away before Jon stopped them. Within seconds, Shaggydog and Summer were circling the clearing.

“Jon!” Bran called, reaching out for his half-brother. Jon easily complied, pulling him into a tight hug.

“I’m so glad to see you survived,” Jon said warmly. “After the fall, I didn’t want to leave you, but I had to leave for the Night’s Watch.”

“Then why are you with the wildlings?” Meera asked, holding up a skin of water for Bran to drink from. Bran took the skin from her and drank eagerly.

Jon made face. “I need to get back,” he explained. “I was under orders: to do whatever it takes to get back to Castle Black safely. You’ll need to leave, though. It won’t be long before they come looking for me.”

The direwolves alerted to the sound before everyone else heard it. Jon pushed everyone to the far end of the clearing as the red-headed woman plowed in.

“Don’t you dare leave me when I’m defending you, Jon Snow!” she yelled, continuing to walk up to him and pound on his chest.

“Ygritte,” Jon said calmly, trying to soothe the woman. “I had to help them.”

“Them?” Ygritte questioned. “You’re mine. Do they mean more to you than me?”

“I won’t lie to you,” Jon said carefully, looking Ygritte in the eyes. He briefly turned back to his brothers who were still shaking from the cold. “If it comes to a choice between you and my brothers, I’ll choose my brothers.”

Ygritte took a few steps back, thrown by this new information. “Brothers?”

“Brothers,” Jon repeated. Jon held Ygritte’s gaze a few moments before she turned to look at Bran and Rickon. Meera and Jojen closed ranks around the Starks, but Rickon stepped forward defiantly, challenging Ygritte.

“Then, you best get back before they’re found,” she said. With that, she turned from the clearing, expecting Jon to follow her.

“Jon, you must stay safe,” Bran said.

Jon nodded. “I know, Bran.” He knelt down beside his brothers, putting a hand on each of their shoulders. “But this is the best way to keep you safe. Will you be okay?”

Rickon nodded. “I have Shaggy.” On cue, Shaggydog emerged from the woods, stopping at Rickon’s side.

“That you do,” Jon said, not risking a chance at touching the direwolf. “Stay safe, all of you. I’ll manage, and so must you.”

Bran nodded to his brother, reaching out for a final hug. Rickon accepted one as well. Before Jon left the clearing, Jojen stopped him.

“You know your choices,” Jojen said simply.

Jon nodded.

“Then, I wish you luck.” Jon accepted Jojen’s hand for a short moment before he turned to hurry after the wildling woman.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is one typographical difference between the works here and their copies on my tumblr. Whoever finds it first gets a prize. Because why not?


	2. Sisterly Jealousy

Winterfell was a buzz of activity for the first time inyears. After the betrothal of Robb Stark to Myrcella Baratheon six years ago,all of the seven kingdoms had begun preparing for the festivities that would celebrate their joining. The day of their marriage had been directly followed by a week’s long tourney – the only suitable celebration for the next Lord of Winterfell and Princess of the Seven Kingdoms, according to Robert Baratheon.

“A fabulous tourney is it not?” Jeyne Poole asked, as she pinned her hair up against her head. “And we get to practice the southern styles. They look amazing.”

“We’re going to miss the joust with all your preparations,” Sansa replied. “You know it’s my favorite.”

Jeyne scoffed as she straightened her skirts. “You just wish to be crowned as the Queen of Love and Beauty.”

“No, I just wish to see an excellent display of jousting,” Sansa corrected.

Jeyne rounded on Sansa. “Don’t you lie to me, Sansa,” she said sharply. “Even since Arya stopped being so atrocious, you’ve been trying to—”

“That is my sister you’re talking about!”

“And you are jealous,” Jeyne finished simply. “Well, you’ll be pleased to know that dresses still don’t sit well with Arya, and no one will crown her the Queen of Love and Beauty while she looks so bitter about it. Now, shall we attend your joust?”

Sansa followed Jeyne out of the castle and onto the tourney grounds. She never expected Arya to become as beautiful as Lyanna Stark, and she certainly never expected to be so jealous about it. After all, Robb was married now. There was finally peace between the North and the South. Sansa should have other things to worry about than he sister’s beauty. She was still Sansa Stark, a proper northern lady, and she was certain she would be crowned.

Jeyne led Sansa to their seats just as the joust was beginning. As expected, Jeyne would not stop her constant jabbering about all the men competing. She compared them based on their height, their armor, how many favors they received, and their horses. Sansa, however, was focused solely on one knight competing: Sir Loras Tyrell.

“Well, who is it that has your eye?” Jeyne asked. “And don’t you dare tell me it’s no one because you haven’t heard a word I said. I did hear there was a woman competing, though. I hope you don’t have your eyes set on her.”

“A woman?” Sansa questioned. Arya would have known about this by now. She was probably dirtying up her skirts trying to find the female and question her about it.

“Brienne of Tarth, or so I’m told,” Jeyne went on. “Rumor has it she’s unseated Loras Tyrell before. She could probably give Jaime Lannister a good tilt.”

Sansa felt the heat rising to her face. Unfortunately, Jeyne caught it immediately.

“Jaime Lannister, is it?” she questioned. “He’s a member of the Kingsguard. I hoped you’d pick someone better suited for a marriage.

Sansa rolled her eyes. “Not Jaime Lannister,” Sansa said. “Ser Loras Tyrell… They call him the Knight of Flowers because he’s from Highgarden.”

“I hear he gives a rose to the prettiest girl in the crowd,” Jeyne mused. “I bet you’re hoping for one.”

“You hear an awful lot, Jeyne.” Sansa gave Jeyne a light push on her shoulder, as they settled in to watch the tourney unfold. Sansa feigned interest in the matches, as she was waiting for Sir Loras to enter the tilt. As riders fell, Sansa continued to search the crowd for any sign that the Knight of Flowers would be riding soon. Without any sign that he was riding next, Sansa immersed herself in watching the tilt. Several riders had already been eliminated from the tournament, and Sansa was enjoying it thoroughly.

Seemingly out of nowhere, Jeyne slumped down next to Sansa and causing her to make a small squeal.

“Where have you been?” Sansa asked. Her voice was more shrill than usual.

“You didn’t even know I was gone,” Jeyne said dismissively. “I left three rounds ago to check for a schedule. Turns out Brienne of Tarth isn’t competing in the tilt because Robert Baratheon was being awful about it.”

“Jeyne!” Sansa shot her a hard glare. Jeyne seemed to forget that they were seated quite close to the royal family now that she was related to them.

Jeyne waved the comment away. “More importantly,” Jeyne went on, “Ser Loras is only going to be at the last tilt of the day today. It’s been split to two days because apparently everyone wants to see Robb and Myrcella dance some more. I’m not sure why. He’s not that great of a dancer.”

“And how many dances have you been stealing from Theon Greyjoy?” Sansa asked.

“Irrelevant,” Jeyne said shortly, looking pointedly at the sky before turning back to the tilt.

It turned out that the last tilt of the day was next, and Sansa sat forward in her seat as the Knight of Flowers rode out with a lance. Next to her, Jeyne starting mocking her and poking fun at her behaviors. Sansa ignored her entirely as Ser Loras rode his tilt. True to the rumors of his prowess, Ser Loras unseated his opponent on the first run. Sansa found herself smiling warmly at Loras as she applauded his victory. Loras pulled out a single red rose, and Jeyne elbowed Sansa in the ribs. Resisting the urge to glare at Jeyne, Sansa kept the smile on her face as Ser Loras rode before her.

“My lady,” he said. Carefully, he extended the rose to her.

Sansa reached out for the rose. “Thank you, Ser Loras,” she said in return. As he rode away, she spun the rose between her fingers and held it to her nose. Jeyne elbowed her again.

“For his first tilt… and his last?” she teased.

“Ser Loras can do as he wishes,” Sansa replied, not willing to admit how much she was looking forward to the next day.

The feast that not was not nearly as grandiose as it had been the night before. This was largely because the feast at the end of the tourney was to be the most spectacular of all. Sansa and Jeyne dressed for the night in southern-styled dresses with their hair pinned up.

“Not looking to be northern tonight?” Catelyn asked from the doorway.

“Mother!” Sansa called, rising to hug her mother. “I will always be northern. I’m simply trying on the style, seeing how well it suits me.”

“All styles suit you just fine,” Catelyn replied. “Have you seen your sister? She needs to get dresses for the feast soon.”

“I can’t say I have,” Sansa said. “But I did receive a flower from a certain knight today…”

“That’s very nice, dear.” Catelyn was looking around the room. As if Sansa would willingly hide her sister. “If you see Arya, please send her my way.”

After Catelyn left the room, Sansa slumped down in her chair. “Even my mother properly ignores me now.”

Jeyne scoffed. “Because your sister is causing trouble,” she pointed out. “You need to relax. We’ve got a night of dancing ahead of us, and no reason to worry about horseface Arya.”

Horseface Arya was not so horse-faced anymore. She strolled into the hall an hour late wearing a northern gown and her hair in a simple braid. Arya sat down at her designated seat for no more than five minutes before someone asked her to dance. Sansa immediately searched the hall for Jeyne, hoping her friend also noticed. She needed someone on her side for this. To her horror, Arya accepted the dance, joining other couples on the dance floor. Sansa was fuming. When did Arya surpass her in everything? Surely she still did poorly at her needlework… but Arya seemed to have all the attention that Sansa wanted.

“Jealousy does not sit well on you, sister.”

Sansa jumped in her seat. Bran took the empty chair next to her, giving her a knowing smile. “Bran, I wasn’t—”

“Shall I ask Jojen to take you around the floor?” he offered. “I’d ask you myself, but I feel family isn’t quite what you’re looking for.”

“I wasn’t being jealous,” Sansa defended. “I was just… thinking that Arya is ruining everything. I’m horrible, aren’t I?”

Bran let out a light laugh. “Not horrible,” he said. “Just a bit too strung up on it. Enjoy the evening, Sansa. This is a time for celebration.”

“I suppose,” Sansa sighed.

“Excellent,” Bran said. “Now, do I need to ask you for a dance? Or do you still prefer the company of others?”

Sansa took Bran’s hand and allowed him to lead her onto the dance floor. She had practiced many nights for this day, when she could twirl around without care. She knew her steps. There was no way that she would cause any issue. Bran soon passed her off to another. Before she knew it, she had danced with nearly every man in the room. However, she was paying far more attention to Arya’s dance partners. One young gentleman had cut in to dance with her three times, and she couldn’t help but notice that Ser Loras had even requested a song. Sansa tried to take Bran’s advice, but she felt like she could not stand to be shirked any more. Thankfully, the night was ending and Sansa soon departed to her rooms hoping that tomorrow would fare better for her.

-

Ser Loras was doing excellently in the tilt today. He had unseated every one of his opponents, and Sansa was on the edge of her seat the entire time. Unfortunately, he didn’t repeat any offers of his roses, but Sansa was hoping for a crown at the end of it all. With each of his small victories, Jeyne was giving Sansa more and more pointed stares. By the time the last rounds approached, Sansa was practically buzzing with energy.

Sandor Clegane was currently in a tilt against Jaime Lannister, and Ser Loras would ride against the victor. As Sandor Clegane knocked Jaime from his horse, Sansa noticed a familiar loud laugh coming from the seats above her.

“Ignore it,” Jeyne advised. “No proper man would be interested in a lady who laughs like an oaf.”

Sansa tried to focus back on the match at hand. Ser Loras would ride against Sandor Clegane, and the victor would crown a Queen of Love and Beauty. She would do her utmost as a Lady to receive that crown. She suddenly wished that she had sought out Ser Loras earlier to give him her favor. Jeyne had convinced her not to, claiming it seemed desperate. But Jeyne hadn’t exactly gotten a rose either…

The whinnying of a horse brought her attention back to the tilt. Ser Loras was on a horse much smaller this round, and Sandor’s horse seemed to be distracted by it.

“That’s a mare,” Jeyne said. “Well, it’s definitely a _different_ strategy.”

Sansa could tell by her tone of voice that she did not approve, but he was definitely going to win. Sure enough, Sandor’s horse was far too preoccupied with Loras’s mare to run properly. Sandor seemed irked by his defeat, but he lost with all the grace he could muster. Loras took his place as the winner of the tourney, running the length of the crowd to accept his praise. Finally, he accepted a crown of winter roses to give to the Queen of Love and Beauty.

Sitting forward in her chair, Sansa hoped she wasn’t too anxious. She tried to put a nice smile on her face as Loras dismounted to walk the crowd. Loras was walking straight toward her. She was going to receive the crown. Loras continued to walk toward her. She was definitely going to be crowned.

Loras walked past her.

Sansa felt stunned for a moment before she wrenched around to find Loras’s recipient of the crown. He was in the booth. There were very few women in the booth: Catelyn, Cersei, Myrcella, and Arya. Sansa watched in utter disbelief as Loras handed the crown to Arya.

Arya.

Arya.

Sansa felt as if her stomach had dropped, and she was definitely having trouble breathing. She heard Jeyne calling her name, but the sound was fuzzy. Quickly, Sansa gathered her skirts and left the tourney grounds, wandering wherever her feet took her. Sansa was sure she was crying, and she felt she had every right to. Where did Arya get off taking everything that was hers? Why had she suddenly felt the need to wear dresses? Why was she trying to look like a lady when she clearly wasn’t? Sansa ripped the pins out of her hair and collapsed onto a felled tree.

Night was falling around Sansa, and darkness was closing in. Sansa let herself believe it didn’t matter anymore until she didn’t recognize where she was. She’d been on Winterfell grounds nearly her entire life. She should know every inch of the land over here. Sansa quickly spotted a patch of light and made her way over to it. Rushing through the trees, she tripped over branches a few times, ripping the skirt of her dress in the process. Cursing herself, she plowed into someone’s camp.

“All alone there?” someone called out in a gruff voice.

Sansa froze. She definitely shouldn’t be out this late, and she definitely shouldn’t be alone. Should she respond? They were bound to find her sooner or later. “No,” she said weakly. She swallowed hard. “I mean, yes. I mean, could you escort me back to the castle?”

A huge, tall man emerged from behind a tent. Sansa was surprised to find she recognized his armor. It was Sandor Clegane. He set down a skin of wine. “Aye, suppose I could.”

“I didn’t mean to be a bother, ser,” she said quickly. “If you weren’t planning on attending the feast, I could –”

“I’ll walk you back to the castle,” he said, leaning down to pull on his boots. “You look like you could use the help.”

Sansa completely froze on the spot. She had always thought that she was tall, but being near Sandor Clegane made her feel small again. Sansa carefully straightened her skirts the best she could, trying to avoid the hulking man in front of her. She let out a sigh of relief when he didn’t offer her a hand and just began walking toward the castle. Staying a pace behind him, Sansa did her best to remain quiet on the walk back. Occasionally, Sandor made flippant comments about the tourney. Sansa didn’t say anything.

“I suppose you don’t have any proper opinion on the joust, eh?” he questioned, stopping abruptly.

Sansa nearly crashed into him.

“Bet you were hoping Ser Flowers crowned you instead of your sister,” he went on.

Sansa bit her tongue and walked past him.

“You’re a right little bird, aren’t you?” He was still walking with her, and no one was around. “Only speak when spoken to… only chirp out right, proper responses. Just wanted a crown… Didn’t even care that he cheated.”

“Ser Loras did not cheat!” Sansa hissed out, turning to Sandor.

“You think that was a fair round?” Sandor asked. “Put us on the same horse and see if he survives being unseated.”

“It was a _strategy_ ,” Sansa murmured.

Sandor barked out a laugh. “At least you’ve got a brain,” he said. “Should probably use it more. Might help people think you’re more’n just a little bird.”

“I am not a bird!” Sansa shouted. “I am a Stark of Winterfell and you will treat me with respect.”

“Gotta earn it first,” Sandor said, walking past her. “You’re just a lady with nothing special about you. That’s why everyone prefers your sister. Not a lady, but at least she’s somebody.”

Sansa stopped walking. This man knew nothing about her. How was he to guess that she was bitter about Arya being crowned? What she really so obvious? More so, was he right?

“You reckon they’ve got good wine at the feast?” Sandor called over his shoulder. “Might be worth the walk…”

Sansa joined him a few yards ahead. “You really think I’m the exact same as every other lady?” she asked.

Sandor grunted. “Not the exact same,” he admitted. “You may be a little bird, but you haven’t taken a second look at these scars.”

Sansa shrugged. “They’re just scars,” she said. “They show you survived.”

“Maybe you aren’t a lady,” he said. “Most run at the sight.”

“Maybe I’m not,” Sansa mumbled. She followed Sandor all the way to the castle walls before she was struck with an idea. “Would you dance with me at the feast?”

Sandor snorted. “I don’t dance, little bird,” he said.

“And I’m not a bird,” Sansa replied. “I’m a direwolf.”

“You going to dance looking like that?” he asked.

Sansa suddenly remembered that her hair was loose around her shoulders. Her dress was also muddied from her run through the woods, and there were several cuts in it. It would definitely be a sight for her family to see her so undone. Not ladylike at all… Perhaps that was what she needed. “Sure,” she said, giving him a smile.

“I might be willing, if only for the show,” he said.

“Then what are we waiting for?”


	3. Sick Day

_One, two, three, four, five, six—_

“ _A-choo!_ ”

Rickon let out a loud groan, throwing his book to the floor. He had an exam tomorrow in his least favorite class, and his neighbor just happened to have the worst sneezing fit in the world. It was insanely distracting. Not to mention that the sneezes _sounded_ fake. They were so delicate and enunciated; Rickon could not believe that the person was actually sick. With slow steps, he picked up the book. On cue, another sneeze came from the wall.

“Goddammit,” Rickon said under his breath. There was no way he was going to manage studying when that sneezing was happening every ten seconds. Marching to his kitchen, Rickon dug through his cupboards for a can of chicken noodle soup. Maybe he could throw it at his neighbor and hope that would cure them… or knock them out long enough for him to finish studying.

Locating a can, Rickon went out his door, leaving it open. He went one door over and pounded on the door. When nothing happened, except a few more sneezes, Rickon knocked harder. The door opened a crack, and another sneeze greeted him. Rickon was fully prepared to throw the can of soup at his neighbor, but he froze.

Standing before him was a cute girl in her pajamas. She was slightly hunched over and sneezing into her sleeve. She had dark hair pulled back into a ponytail and blue eyes that looked slightly bloodshot. She sneezed again and looked up at him. “Can I – can I help you?” She sneezed again.

“Um,” Rickon rubbed at the back of his head and tried to think of what to say. He couldn’t just throw things at her. “You were sneezing a ton, and I have a test to study for… so I brought you some soup…”

She sneezed, reaching for the can. “Oh, thank you,” she mumbled. As soon as she grabbed the can, she dropped it.

Rickon leaned over to pick it up. “Look, I can…” Rickon searched about for words. “Do you want me to help you out a bit? I just really need you to stop, so I don’t fail this class.”

The girl nodded, sneezing again. There was something seriously wrong with her.

“Let me just get my things,” Rickon said. He raced back into his apartment, grabbed a second can of soup and his books, locked up behind him, and went next down. His neighbor had left the door open, but she was nowhere to be seen. Rickon walked in and closed the door behind him.

Her apartment had the exact same layout as his, so he found his way to her kitchen. His neighbor was sniffling into a tissue at the table. “Sorry,” she mumbled. “I’m just—”

She cut herself off with a sneeze. Rickon ignored her and searched her kitchen for a pot. He put the soup on her stove and grabbed one of his books. “I don’t mean to ignore you,” he said. “I just really need to study.”

She nodded, leaning her head onto the table. “I’m Shireen,” she mumbled out.

“Rickon,” he said, glancing up at her. He leafed through the book, trying to find his place. He read through a few lines before nearly throwing his book again.

Shireen was watching him curiously, narrowing her eyes at him. “Are you reading Chaucer?” she asked.

“Huh?” Rickon glanced up, and back to his book. “Yeah, for my fucking English class. It’s so fucking useless. No one talks like this anymore.”

She laughed through a sneeze. “Do you want me to help?” she offered. “I’m an English grad student.”

“Are you serious?” Rickon said, nearly rounding on her. She nodded weakly. “Just my luck. I’ve been living next to a cheat sheet, and I only just figure it out.”

Locating a small ladle, Rickon stirred the soup before taking a seat next to her at a table. Shireen cleaned off her hands and took his book. She rarely lifted her head from the table, assisting her movements with her arms. Still, she read to his sections of the book, pointing out specific parts that he should probably remember. Rickon left to stir the soup and pour it into a bowl for her, and she talked through her eating, mumbling out things that could be helpful to him.

It took an extremely long time for her to finish with the soup, but Shireen was sneezing less and less as time went on. Rickon listened carefully to everything she said about his book, and he scribbled down relevant notes for his test the next day. Shireen was surprisingly helpful for a sick person, and even when she was getting sleepy, she pressed on with more information. Occasionally, she asked questions about the class and his professors, depending on his responses, she modified some information and continued on until she was almost completely asleep at the table.

When Rickon noticed her nodding off, he pried the book from her hands and moved away the things around her. Then, he picked her up, pressing her to his chest, and carried her to her room, guessing its location based on his apartment. It was right where he expected it to be, and he even tucked her into bed. After all, she had probably just saved his life with all this new information. Rickon had not been prepared for his test in the slightest before tonight, and even the half-asleep information seemed more legit than his class had all semester.

Rickon even decided to clean up her kitchen before leaving. After all, he probably owed her. Then, he locked up her apartment and went back to his own, reviewing the notes she had just given him. Looking over the notes a few times before bed, Rickon felt oddly confident about the upcoming test.

The next day, Rickon settled into class for his test. He was jittery from trying to force himself to remember all the information. It was a lot to remember, and Rickon felt brain dead when he finally finished scribbling down everything he could.

Walking out of his test, Rickon mostly felt relieved that it was over and that his professor had promised them their grades that evening. However, the best feeling was that Rickon was finally free for the summer. With a small jump in his step, Rickon raced back to his apartment to catch up on all the sleep he had missed studying for his exams.

He was completely asleep when a small knock started to rouse him. Groggily, Rickon rolled out of his bed and trudged over to the door. He opened it to find his neighbor smiling sheepishly at him. She was holding out a plate of cookies. Without thinking, he took a cookie and put it into his mouth. Shireen blinked at him.

“Whoops,” he said.

Shireen laughed. “No, that’s okay,” she said. “I made them for you. As a thank you for yesterday. I’m feeling much better today.”

“Well, in that case…” Rickon took another cookie. Chewing through it, he covered his mouth with a hand and mumbled out, “Do you wanna come in? We can hang for a bit.”

“Sure,” Shireen said, stepping into his apartment.

Rickon led her into the small living room and flopped down on the couch. “Thanks for everything, too,” he said. “I, um, thought I was going to fail my test this morning, but I think I did okay.”

“What’d you get on it?” she asked, helping herself to a cookie.

“I dunno,” he said. “But I was thinking that I’d do something for you if I passed.”

“Like what?” Shireen asked, leaning against the back of the couch to look at him.

Rickon turned to her, finally getting a good look. Her blue eyes were bright again, and her hair was slightly damp. However, Rickon was surprised to see that the marks on her cheek were still there. He had assumed there were part of her illness. Still, she was pretty cute, and he wasn’t going to be shallow about this.

“I was thinking dinner,” he said. “I can take you out someplace nice.”

Her face flushed. “Oh, you don’t have to,” Shireen said quickly. “I mean, you probably thought that this was going to go away…” She gestured weakly to her cheek.

Rickon shrugged. “That’s whatever,” he said, taking another cookie. “Besides, with baking skills like these, I’d be willing to take you out anyway.”

“Take me out… to dinner? Or with a rifle?”

Rickon let out a massive laugh. “Is that what your English degree is for?” he asked. “Your impressive flirting skills?”

Her face went a deeper red, and she aimed a hit against his chest. “I am not flirting!” she insisted.

Rickon caught her hand, swallowing hard. “I am.”

She bit her lip and looked around. “Maybe we’ll see if I’ll let you take me out,” she said. “Depending on what you got on that test… Chaucer, right?”

Rickon soured slightly until he realized that this was probably a greater assessment of her knowledge than his. He narrowed his eyes at her. Even though it was a silly competition, he really wanted to win. “You know… my grade is supposed to be posted tonight.”

Shireen rolled her eyes at him, stuffing another cookie in her mouth. She waved him off to go check.

He got a B in the class.


	4. Unknown Number

Papers and notebooks were scattered everywhere. Every surface of the bed was covered in loose papers, and a messy pile of pens, pencils, paperclips, and erasers. If Shireen was being completely honest, this was her favorite time of year. Cleaning out her backpack after a long quarter of classes was the best form of catharsis for her. At the end of every quarter, she went through all her things, finished organizing her notes and work for storage, and went through her notes to pull out any doodles that she deemed worthy of keeping.

Shaking out a notebook, several pieces of paper fell to the floor, landing on her socks. Picking through them, Shireen separated them into one of three piles: notes to keep, doodles to keep, or trash. The few flyers that she somehow kept all quarter were thrown straight to the trash after a quick investigation to figure out if there were doodles behind them. Her notes were placed back into the notebook before Shireen turned her attention to the last few pieces of paper. There was a small doodle of a flower that wasn’t worthy of keeping, two empty half-sheets of paper, and a phone number scribbled onto a tiny scrap of paper.

Shireen frowned, looking at the phone number. Nowhere on the paper was any sign of who it belonged to. She didn’t recognize it, but she didn’t recognize most phone numbers anymore. Glancing to her bed, Shireen saw that her computer was too far away to check to see if it belonged to someone in one of her study groups. Instead, Shireen pulled out her phone. If she called, texted, or saved the number in her phone, then if would show up if she typed it in. Reciting the number to herself, Shireen typed it in, seeing her contacts get filtered through. No one showed up. Shireen pursed her lips, deleting the number to type it again as if that would change the outcome. Still nothing.

Looking around at her organized mess, Shireen figured that she was close enough to the end of her cleaning to take a short break. She climbed onto her bed and opened up her spreadsheet of phone numbers. Worry was starting to pick at her. She never failed to organize study groups, and she always made sure that she contacted everyone who wanted to join her. Scrolling through her lists, Shireen carefully searched for the phone number. There was still no match. Grumbling to herself, Shireen searched the document again using the _Find_  function. Still nothing.

With a sigh, Shireen quickly thought through an apology. Surely, she owed whoever this phone number belonged to something. Taking a deep breath, she dialed the number again, forcing herself to make the call. Belatedly, she realized that it was late, and most people wouldn’t be up still. Also, it was almost a week into Winter Break and others were likely to be on vacation or getting ready for Christmas. Swallowing hard, Shireen convinced herself that it was too late to hang up now, so she saw it through.

Someone answered the line, though no one was speaking. She heard some muffled voices and footfalls from the other line. “Hello?” she asked tentatively.

There was the fuzzy sound of someone pressing their hand over the receiver. Then, someone rushed out, “Okay, so Chunk just got captured and they’re about to go through the booby traps, but if you come over now you can still catch the end.”

“What?” Shireen asked into the line. She had no idea what was happening, but it all sounded very exciting.

The boy on the line repeated himself even faster this time, adding on, “So are you coming over or not?”

Shireen frowned into the phone, trying to think through what he was saying. Only one detail was sticking in her head, so she went with it. “Are you watching _The Goonies_?”

The boy scoffed. Then, he cleared his throat loudly. “So, uh… you’re not Wex,” he said.

“Um, no, I’m not,” Shireen said. She gathered up her courage and pressed on. “I think we had class together last quarter, and I forgot to add you to our study groups.”

Nothing she said seemed to register to him. “Wex did tell me he was getting a new number,” he mused. “Are you pranking me for him?”

“What? No,” Shireen said firmly. Never had she had such a derailed conversation, and she wondered if this boy was always like this. “No, my name’s Shireen—Shireen Baratheon. I ran study groups last quarter for—”

“Hey, you know what?” he asked quickly. Shireen took in a sharp breath to stop herself from snapping at him. Fortunately, he didn’t wait for a response. “If we keep talking, I’m going to miss my favorite part of the movie. How about we do this tomorrow? I’ll meet you at that café on Fifth, okay? See you then. Love you, bye.”

He hung up the phone without waiting for a response, leaving Shireen staring at her phone in mild amusement. Whoever he was, he had definitely just said that he loved her. Shaking her head slightly, Shireen tossed her phone down, going over to clean up the rest of her notes. Briefly, she considered going over to the café tomorrow. However, it didn’t take long for her to realize that he might not live close by. He definitely didn’t know where she lived, and she wasn’t even sure if he was actually in any of her classes.

By noon the next day, curiosity got the better of her, and she wrapped herself up in a heavy coat and scarf. She walked over to the café in question slowly. Even though she wanted to figure out who this boy was, a simple phone call or text message could have given her answer. There was no need for her to actually meet him. The small bout of anticipation for this was keeping her going, though, and Shireen found herself excited to meet him.

Once she was inside the shop, she tried to stop herself from looking around. Instead, she got in line to order a drink. The line was almost ridiculously long, despite the proximity to Christmas. Still, Shireen tried to wait patiently without looking around so much.

Shoving her hands into her pockets, Shireen pulled out her phone, wondering if she should call or text to tell him that she was near. Squeezing her phone in her hand, she slowly made her way through the line. When she was in the approximate middle of the line, her phone rang. Checking the caller ID, Shireen hid a smile, seeing the same unknown number from last night. She picked up. “Hello?”

“Oh, there you are,” he said. “Hold on, I’ll be right there.”

Shireen drew away, staring down at the screen of her phone and seeing that he hadn’t hung up. “Hello?” she said into the phone.

Nothing came from the phone, so Shireen hung up the call. She tried to shake off the feeling from the call, wondering if she should actually be expecting something to happen. It turned out that Shireen should have never expected any sort of normal interaction. By the time she put away her phone and looked up, there was a cute boy standing in front of her. He had bright blue eyes that were open wide and he was grinning hugely. His face was framed with auburn curls that were spilling out from his beanie, and he was carrying two cups of coffee.

“I got you a drink,” he said, handing one of the cups to her. Shireen took it slowly, giving him an odd look that he didn’t notice. Instead, he looked around over her head. When he stretched up, Shireen saw how tall he was. “I think there’s a table over there. Let’s steal it!”

He rushed over, taking a seat and waving her over. Following him slowly, Shireen took a seat across from him. He was bouncing slightly in his seat, sipping at his drink. Smacking his lips, he grinned at her again. Biting her lip, Shireen sipped tentatively at her own drink. Briefly, she remembered all the things she’d ever heard about accepting unknown drinks from strangers. However, when the familiar flavor hit her tongue, Shireen couldn’t help but smile. “Pumpkin spice latte?” she asked, shaking the drink at him.

He grinned again, taking another drink from his own drink. “They’re great,” he said. “So much sugar…”

Shireen watched as his took a deep drink from his own beverage. She saw the small markings the proved he was also drinking a pumpkin spice latte, and she suppressed a giggle. He caught the look and raised his eyebrows at her. Hiding her smile, she shook her head slightly. “So I didn’t catch your name,” she said.

He laughed, tossing his head back. “Rickon,”’ he said. He extended a hand to her. Slowly, Shireen reached out to shake it. He grinned at her. It was a large toothy grin, and something about him was really warm and inviting. “Do you want to tell me know you got my number?”

Slowly, the story came out: Shireen telling him about the cleaning out of her notebooks and finding the loose scrap of paper. Rickon didn’t seem to find this surprising in the slightest, laughing at the story that quickly got derailed into an explanation of his movie-watching. Shireen found it easy to talk to him. “So what’s your favorite part of _The Goonies_?” she asked.

“Goonies never say die!” he shouted, drawing the attention of everyone else in a café. Then, he laughed loudly. “You know, you’re really cute,” he said quickly. “Want to go out on another date sometime?”

Shireen drew back slightly, unsure which of the two statements to address. “Another?” she asked.

Rickon shrugged. “Or a first date,” he mumbled. He hastily grabbed at his drink and busied himself with a long draw from it.

“So are you going to tell me you love me again?”

He choked on his drink, spewing liquid across the table. Quickly, he jumped up and snatched up napkins to start cleaning up the mess. Shireen bit back a smile, watching his frantic response. “I can explain, I swear.”


	5. At The Principal's Office

Shireen glanced sideways, stealing looks at a brooding, sullen Rickon Stark. He wouldn’t stop glowering, and she knew it was because he wanted to punch someone. His knuckles were white on the edge of his chair. He gripped the plastic over and over again. Shireen knew how this went. It was her fourth time sitting outside the principal’s office. Somehow, Rickon always ended up right next to her, sometimes covered in blood.

He caught her looking. “What?”

Shireen swallowed, meeting his gaze. She gave him the only truth she knew. “I think I’m in love with you and I’m terrified.”


	6. A Massage

“Do you…well…I mean…I could give you a massage?”

Rickon turned, watching Shireen wring her hands. “What?”

Shireen cleared her throat. “Well, you are to be my husband, and you do spend a long time training each morning.”

Without words, Rickon stripped from the waist up, presenting her his back. Ignoring the scars, Shireen dug her fingers into his flesh, kneading through his muscle and making Rickon moan. He slowly fell to the featherbed, and Shireen pressed into him further. After a while, she pulled away, thinking him asleep. A small sound made her turn back.

Rickon was smiling. “Thank you.”


	7. Before The Battle

Shireen looked out over the grounds of Winterfell, nerves flooding her system. A part of her always knew how this would end. It was the war her father fought for before, and the one her husband fought now. Nothing helped, though. She absently rubbed a hand over her belly, hoping that she could still have a happy ending.

The door clattered open behind her, and she turned to face her husband. “If you die, I’m going to kill you,” she told him without preamble.

Rickon laughed loudly, crossing the room to kiss her full on the mouth. “Never,” he murmured.


	8. Harmless Pranks

“YOU DID WHAT?!”

Shireen hushes Rickon, pressing her hand over his mouth. “Not so loud!” she hisses, glancing around—hoping that no one is paying them attention. She draws her hand away. “It’s a harmless prank.”

Rickon scoffs. “That’s practically illegal, coming from you.”

“Really? After everything _you’ve_ done?”

“You fucking rigged Ramsay’s locker to douse him in ink, and you think I’m _mad_?” Rickon asks.

Shireen shrugs at the same time someone shrieks a distance away. Around the corner runs Ramsay, covered head to toe in black ink. Shireen looks mortified.

Rickon smiles. “I’m proud of you.”

“Shut up.”


	9. Invitation to Adventure

“So, I found this waterfall…” Rickon started slowly.

Shireen looked up from her book, leveling a stare at Rickon. She slowly closed the book and put it on her lap. “And how exactly do you _find_ a waterfell?”

“I went exploring, now let’s go,” Rickon said, grabbing her arm and starting to pull her to the door.

“We have a test tomorrow,” Shireen reminded him, glancing at the work in front of her.

Rickon pouted, slumping down into a chair. “I guess that means you don’t want to go,” he murmured.

Shireen sighed, grabbing her keys. “Where is it again?”


	10. Kiss Me

“Kiss me.”

Shireen blinks. “What?”

“Kiss me, my lady.”

“I—I couldn’t,” Shireen stutters out. “My station—I can’t—”

“You can,” Rickon insists, stepping into her. He lifts a hand and brushes her hair from her face. “Your maidenhead will be fine. I only wish for a kiss.”

Shireen steps backwards.

Rickon follows her. “You watch me across the hall,” he tells her, “and in the yard… I see your stares. You hate the other lords… So kiss me.”

Shireen takes a deep breath, looking into the bright eyes of this young lord. He will surely be her ruin.


	11. Study Troubles

Shireen snapped her book shut, turning to glare at Rickon. He smirked at her and shrugged lightly. Shireen narrowed her eyes. “What did you just say?”

“Come over here and make me,” he repeated slowly.

Straightening up, Shireen set down her book. She slowly and deliberately walked across the lounge, glanced down at his keyboard, and pressed the mute button. Finally she was free from the annoying buzz of music too soft to make out.

Rickon stared at her as she went back to her seat and started reading. He cleared his throat. “So how about we get dinner later?”


	12. Gymnophoria

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gymnophoria - The sensation that someone is mentally undressing you.

Rickon froze, glancing up. For some reason, whenever he came to this class he could swear that he felt a stare so intense, he thought his skin was burning. Stretching, Rickon looked around for the source, finding his TA staring at him. Her blue eyes looked brighter beneath the black of her bangs, and she glanced up to see him smirking. Her face went red, and she busied herself quickly.

When class ended, Rickon walked over, dropping a note in front of her that said:

_The sight’s better in person._

Watching her mouth drop open made it all worth it.


	13. Strikhedonia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Strikhedonia - The pleasure of being able to say “to hell with it”

“I’m betrothed.”

“I’m not.”

“ _Rickon_.”

“I believe it would be _Lord Stark_ for any other lady,” he quipped back, licking his lips. “Or do you no longer care for the breach in propriety?”

Shireen stepped back as Rickon stepped forward. Too often, he caught her staring. She confided in him, too. Rickon knew how much she loathed her husband-to-be, how much she despised her father’s men for arranging the match. He’d likely guessed her feelings for him, too. She took in a deep breath.

“Oh, to hell with it.” Shireen pressed up on her toes and finally met his lips.


	14. Druxy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Druxy - Something which looks good on the outside, but is actually rotten inside

“He’s the Wild Wolf for a reason,” Edric warned. “They say he’s _actually_ a wolf on the inside.”

Shireen shot a glare over to Edric. “You’re making that up.”

Edric smirked. “You want to test that?”

Snapping her book shut, Shireen gathered her skirts and walked across the courtyard. She stopped next to the 8-year-old Lord of Winterfell. Then, his direwolf shoved her into the snow, and she bit her tongue to prevent herself retorting.

“Back, Shaggy.” Rickon glared until the direwolf walked away.

Shireen started to think there was some truth to their connection.

Rickon smiled. “He likes you.”


	15. Lalochezia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lalochezia - The use of abusive language to relieve stress or ease pain

“Fucking shit, fuck, fuck, shit, fuck!” Shireen screamed.

“You forgot _bitch_ ,” Rickon suggested. “ _Cunt, dick_ …”

“I’m trying not to be offensive,” Shireen said, turning sharply to her husband. “But this _is_ your entire fault, you bastard.”

Rickon leaned forward, grabbing her hands and kissing them. “I’ll take all the blame, honey,” he said. “And you can swear as much as you’d like.”

“It does help with the pain,” the nurse said.

“Well, thank _fuck_ for that,” Shireen snapped.

“You ready to push?” the nurse asked.

Shireen turned to Rickon. “I hate you.”

“Tell me that when you’re holding our baby.”


	16. Spare Clothes

“What are you wearing?”

Shireen turned around, wiping her hands off on a dish towel. She looked down at her outfit and blushed. “It’s, um… I’m doing laundry,” she said. “Everything else is dirty.”

Rickon stalked forward, tossing a bag onto the table and stripping off his jacket quickly. “So you’ve just been hiding this from me?”

Shireen frowned at him. “Was that our lunch?”

Rickon slid his hands over the skin of her stomach left exposed from her crop top. He pressed her into the counter and kissed her deeply. “I think I want something else for lunch now.”


	17. Trust

Everyone could see that the King of Winterfell was smitten with his wife, though none knew why. Their marriage was arranged, and Shireen Baratheon was obviously unattractive. Still, there was no denying that Rickon Stark was obviously in love. However, most people didn’t catch Queen Shireen’s sharp glares across halls whenever another woman was near her husband.

“I thought I had your trust?” Rickon asked, striding over and wrapping Shireen in his arms.

“You do,” Shireen replied shortly. “It’s them I don’t trust.”

Rickon laughed loudly, only stopping when Shireen yanked his tunic to pull him down for a kiss.


	18. Warmth

“What bothers you, wife?” Rickon asked, stripping off his tunic as if he couldn’t feel the harsh winds of the incoming blizzard.

Shireen scowled. “I’m cold,” she said. “I have been cold for years.”

“I warm you,” Rickon defended. “In our bed. Every night.”

“For a short time,” she replied.

Rickon smiled deviously. “Let me warm you for true.”

Shireen expected kisses and hugs. She did not expect Rickon to toss her over his shoulder and carry her out to the godswood as the sun set. But she didn’t complain when he led her into the hot spring completely naked.


	19. Free Drinks

Bending down, Rickon grasped Shireen by the thighs before lifting her against the wall and kissing her fiercely. Even with the loud music of the bar pounding through their ears, he heard Shireen giggle.

“Every time,” she mumbled out.

Rickon paused briefly to give her a baffled stare. “What?”

Shireen rolled her eyes. “When are you going to realize that guys aren’t actually hitting on me?”

“He bought you a drink.”

“Because he thinks I’m an easy lay,” Shireen explained. “But I’m not denying free drinks.”

“Fucker,” Rickon snarled. “I’ll go punch him.”

“How about you just keep kissing me?”


	20. Drinking With The Boys

_CLINK!_

The glass hit the table with a satisfying sound, and Rickon wiped his mouth with a smirk. “Keep up.”

Devan and Edric shared an incredulous look. Devan snagged Edric’s arm and pulled him over, hissing in his ear, “I thought you said this was an intimidation tactic!”

“It is!” Edric insisted. “We just have to get him drunk enough to spill… I’ll get him.”

“You’re about to pass out,” Devan said. “He’s six shots in.”

Rickon leaned back in his chair, pouring out another round. “You guys want in?”

“Yes,” Edric said.

This wasn’t going to end well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've added [poorly written] titles to these so they're easier to find. 
> 
> Also, [Rickeen Shipweek's initial poll is ending this Friday, June 9! Click here to vote on the week of the event and the types of prompts you’d like to see!](https://www.surveymonkey.com/r/R6Z2QMB) As always, any and all suggestions are welcome. Feel free to shoot me a message anywhere you can find me.


	21. Throwing Fists

Digging his feet into the ground, Rickon squared off against Ramsay. He kept his eyes fixed on his target as he wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth. Someone tugged on his elbow.

“You don’t have to…” Shireen trailed off. She still looked panicked.

Rickon paused long enough to give her a reassuring smile. “Sure, I do,” he said. “No one gets to talk to you like that.”

“Running away, Stark?” Ramsay called. He flicked a small blade around his hands.

“Just say here,” Rickon told Shireen. Rickon turned back, now scowling. Without responding, he lunged at Ramsay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [The first poll for Rickeen Shipweek 2017 is done](https://frozensnares.tumblr.com/post/161638070146/rickeen-shipweek-2017), and I'm compiling prompts that fall into the following categories: Alternate Universes, Images, Quotes, and Settings. If you have any suggestions, please send them my way!


	22. Wanweird

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wanweird - An unhappy fate

Rickon stared down at the floor, his hands still empty. It couldn’t be. It just couldn’t. There was nothing left that he could do. No options that he could take. He simple stood there in despair until the door opened and closed some distance away.

“I’m back.” Shireen came into the room, dropping her keys on the counter. She saw him standing before the trash can, looking lost. “Is everything all right?”

“Life is meaningless,” Rickon announced.

Shireen ignored him, opening the fridge to locate snacks. “And why is that?”

Rickon let out a small sniffle. “We’re out of Doritos.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [The survey for Rickeen Shipweek 2018 closes tomorrow, July 13 at 6PM PST! Click here to vote on the week of the event and the prompts you’d like to see!](https://docs.google.com/forms/d/e/1FAIpQLSfC7cFIS31IpZCI-shRVDyvoxQFxK9fcQtY5TjUi92nR_M1zA/viewform) As always, feel free to shoot me a message anywhere you can find me if you have any questions.


	23. Lygerastia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lygerastia - The condition of one who is only amorous when the lights are out

Blindly reaching forward, Shireen’s fingers hit the smooth skin of Rickon’s back. She spread her hands over him, feeling the familiar shape of his body and tracing the divots of his ribs. Sliding forward, Shireen pressed her lips against his shoulder. She could feel his body trembling with a stifled laugh.

“What?” she demanded.

“I _was_ trying to sleep.”

Shireen groaned, pressing her face between his shoulder blades. “Why would you be doing that?”

“Because it’s 1AM,” Rickon said.

Shireen wrapped her arms around him, throwing her leg over his hips for good measure. “But we don’t have work tomorrow…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [The survey for Rickeen Shipweek 2018 closes tomorrow, July 13 at 6PM PST! Click here to vote on the week of the event and the prompts you’d like to see!](https://docs.google.com/forms/d/e/1FAIpQLSfC7cFIS31IpZCI-shRVDyvoxQFxK9fcQtY5TjUi92nR_M1zA/viewform) As always, feel free to shoot me a message anywhere you can find me if you have any questions.


End file.
